


Never Saw it Coming

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage
Genre: After care, Eliot Spencer Whump, Explicit Language, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Manipulation, Multiple Partners, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Submission, Trapped, Whipping, asking for help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 14:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16306916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: The team uses Eliot as bait for an unusual honey trap, but this time it's the hitter that ends up trapped in the end.





	Never Saw it Coming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravelqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravelqueen/gifts).



> It's not as explicit as I wanted to get, but I think we can definitely label this fic as "the one that got away from me". Ravelqueen, I hope this is everything you wanted, and I'm only sorry it took me so long to finish it.
> 
> Thank you for joining us last year.

They’d argued about the plan. Parker had never heard the term ‘honey trap’ before, but she’d seen Sophie in action enough times that once Eliot and Hardison made the connection for her, she understood perfectly what was being proposed and why. And she didn’t want any part of it. For any of them. “He likes to hurt people!” had been the thrust of her argument, pointing at the admittedly disturbing list of inquiries assorted law enforcement agencies had made over the years. “I say we just hurt him instead and take what we need.”

“Which he will then trace back to Maddie,” Eliot had pointed out. “You prepared to watch over her every day for the rest of either of their lives?” The reason a honey trap had been proposed in the first place was that ideally they were going to need to get the evidence necessary to put the mark down without him knowing they had it. “I know this guy – I know the type. He can’t come up with anything I can’t take.”

He’d meant it to be reassuring, but Parker’s frustration levels had remained relatively unchanged. Hardison had doubts as well, but he’d been surprisingly restrained about voicing them. “Guy like this, he’s probably into the whips and chains things. I know you’re as tough as they come, man, but he ties you up tight enough…”

_On his knees, wrists bound, arms stretched over his head far enough that his back and buttocks were exposed to the lash in Moreau’s hand. His cock was achingly hard, straining for even the hope of release._

The memory left him with a pleasurable tightness in his groin, but Eliot managed to look Hardison dead in the eyes as he said, “I can do this.”

He’d ultimately won the debate, but Eliot knew it was more because Parker hadn’t been able to come up with anything better than how persuasive his argument had been. Regardless, within twenty-four hours he was set up in a back corner of the hotel bar Hardison had identified as their mark’s preferred hunting ground. A cheap netbook was open on the table in front of him, set to a recipe program. One of his physical notebooks was also at hand. _Mark Keller. You’ve got your Italian grandmother’s recipes and your dream is to start your own restaurant._

The recipes were Eliot’s, but the persona was a good one for the circumstances. Mark would be nervous and unsure of himself, weighed down by debt and a lack of options. His hair was smoothed back into a neat ponytail, and he was wearing the glasses he used for his more bookish characters.

By eleven o’clock that first night, Anton Morovich had bought him a beer and joined him at his table. “You look like somebody in need of distraction.” He had enough of an accent that Eliot could tell English wasn’t his first language.

After thanking him, Eliot settled back in his chair and gestured helplessly at the mess on the table. “Unfortunately, I seem to be somebody in need of a miracle worker.” They exchanged introductions, and the small talk began in earnest. Morovich was charming, clearly well educated, and carried himself with the confidence of a man used to getting what he wanted. He wasn’t as handsome as Moreau, and he didn’t have the presence of Damien or Nate, but there was enough of both in the mix that Eliot quickly realized he wasn’t going to have to entirely fake an attraction.

It was nearly two in the morning when Eliot finally began gathering up his things. “I would like to see your business plan,” Morovich said, putting one of his hands over Eliot’s – briefly stopping him. Eliot looked up, directly into the other man’s eyes – making sure his own gaze was appropriately needy. “You have an obvious passion for the work,” Morovich continued. “That’s something I would very much like to encourage.”

They made arrangements to meet again the following night at the same bar. “I want to see whatever you’ve pulled together,” Eliot warned Hardison on his return to the pub. “This guy’s smarter than we gave him credit for. You go too far, and he’s going to spook.”

Hardison had grumbled a predictable amount, but almost immediately shifted to confirming what they’d suspected – and the reason they’d set up the trap the way they had. “His phone’s three or four years out of date, so there wasn’t going to be much on it to begin with. He’s almost spooky though, with how strict he is about wiping whatever data does end up on it.”

“I’m going to have to get a lot closer if we’re looking for some kind of date book or planner,” Eliot mused, scanning the first few lines of the file Hardison had sent him.

“Or the thief could just do what she’s best at,” Parker snarked from across the room. Eliot let the statement pass without comment. If their roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been happy sending Parker or Hardison into a set-up like this. The fact that he could handle himself didn’t negate how frustrated their newly minted mastermind was likely feeling at this point.  
****************************  
Eliot’s next meeting with Morovich traveled along similar lines as the first. There were a few more indicators of the man’s sexual interest, which Eliot did his best to encourage, but the majority of the evening was spent reviewing the business plan Hardison had doctored up for him.

Morovich’s kiss as they said good night was deeper and more intense than anything he’d tried before, but all he said was, “Meet me here tomorrow night. I’m going to make some calls; if everything goes as I hope, I should have some good news.”

“All right,” Hardison told him, once Eliot reported to the other two the next morning, “I’ve adjusted your phone so that no matter what electronics he has on him, you’ll be able to clone them. You just need to stay close enough once you start the program until the phone vibrates.”

Parker had stayed long enough to hear his briefing and Hardison’s instructions, then disappeared without a word into the upstairs living area. “She’s just worried,” Hardison offered, as Eliot watched her go. “She’s still not good at processing that.”

 _She’s not the only one,_ Eliot thought, looking back at the hacker with as neutral an expression as he could manage. “One way or the other, it’ll be over tonight,” was all he said, gathering the things Hardison had set out for him.

That night, Eliot was halfway through his second beer when Morovich finally arrived. “No,” the man said, waving distractedly as Eliot reached for the folder he’d set to one side on the table. “No…” He slid into the booth next to Eliot, deliberately crowding the hitter. His eyes were bright, and the ghost of a smile hovered about his expression. “Tonight will be a night for celebrating properly. I have everything lined up to make your restaurant happen, Mark!”

Before Eliot could do more than draw breath to respond, Morovich had pressed into him, kissing him hard and deep. Eliot struggled for a second out of sheer surprise, but quickly stilled – letting Morovich take control of the moment. A hand came up, cupping the back of his head, holding him in place as Morovich shifted into a more comfortable position on the leather covered seat.

Fingers began threading their way into Eliot’s hair, loosening his ponytail. Sensing the direction things were heading, Eliot whimpered as Morovich’s hand twisted in his hair. It wasn’t the hard, fast, twist and pull that Damien had liked to use on him. This was cautious…casual…an easy flexing of fingers that could have easily been mistaken for anything. Eliot closed his eyes as the endorphins spilled into his system, allowing Morovich to watch as the trigger ran its course.

He could hear Morovich humming under his breath, and the older man was smiling when Eliot looked at him again – his pupils blown wide with unconcealed lust. “I took a room upstairs,” he said, caressing the side of Eliot’s face. “I was hoping you’d…” He let his voice trail off, but Eliot leaned into his touch. Fingers slid to the back of his head, flexing again, and Morovich pulled him in for another kiss.

It had been a long time since he’d dropped his guard this far for anyone, and the low, soft moan that escaped the hitter’s throat was only partially to help sell the con. 

“I can do so much for you Mark.” Pulling back again, Morovich let his hand slide down, until his palm was resting over the hitter’s pulse. “Give me this one night, and I will set you up for life.”

The line was cheesy as hell, but in the privacy of his own mind Eliot had to admit there was a rush in seeing the effect his submission was having on a man like this. “What do I need to do?”  
*****************************  
There was more kissing and fumbling as they reached the elevator. Eliot tried to return Morovich’s intentions in kind, without betraying himself as more experienced than he was supposed to be, but now that he’d given permission for the mark to show his more dominant side, Morovich seemed more than happy to do all the work.

And he was talented; by the time they reached their floor, Eliot was able to admit that he’d been molested by worse potential lovers in the past. His blood was up, and the stirrings of a full-on erection were beginning to press awkwardly against the half-opened fly of his jeans. As Morovich passed his keycard across the door sensor, Eliot was beginning to think that a night of letting the man play his games, letting Morovich fuck him, was a small price to pay in order to close the deal and help their clients.

Then he saw what was waiting for them in the man’s room. Five men – all within ten years of Morovich in age, each one in an expensively tailored suit, and each one of them looking at Eliot as Morovich maneuvered him into the center of the space. “Gentlemen,” Morovich said, a hand gripping Eliot’s shoulder. “This is Mark Keller, the young man I told you about.” He reached up and slid his fingers into Eliot’s hair again. “If they like what they see…” He closed his hand in a fist again. Eliot shook his head, fighting the trigger, but he was in the entirely wrong headspace and the result was only partially successful.

The blend of appreciative sounds and looks at his reaction sealed the deal for him. Mark would bolt at the implications Morovich had laid in front of him; tactically it was the right move for Eliot as well. _Pull back, regroup, come at this from a smarter angle._ “Anton, I’m sorry,” he said abruptly, pulling free of the man’s hold. “I think I gave you the wrong impression.”

He took a step towards the door…and froze as he felt his equilibrium begin to slip. _Fuck._ Eyes wide with a fear he suddenly didn’t have to fake, Eliot drew in a deep breath and tried to get himself under control.

“I never get tired of watching that,” one of the men said. “Did you use the normal dose Anton, or did you tweak it up a bit?”

Eliot tracked Morovich, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, even though he already knew punching his way out of this wasn’t going to be an option. _Maddie. Think of Maddie and James and Cassie._ If the job was truly blown, how long would it take the men circling him to find their way back to a young mother and her two small children?

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to try and get as much information out of Morovich as he could however, before things turned irretrievably ugly. “You…you drugged me?” he asked. “Why?”

 _”Eliot, man, hang on – we’re coming to get you.”_ Hardison’s voice in his ear – steady and reassuring, with only vague hints of the panic Eliot knew the hacker must be feeling right now. _”Parker will be there in…”_

“No,” he growled under his breath, trusting that the sensitivity of Hardison’s tools would pick up the word. “Hold.”

Across from him, Morovich was speaking. “Inexperienced men – like yourself – have a tendency to panic when faced with everything my friends and I can offer you.” The hand that had cupped his neck earlier, holding him steady while Morovich kissed him, swam at the edge of Eliot’s vision. “Transdermal absorption. Allows me to control the dose more precisely and ensures that your experience is as…pleasurable…as possible.”

Eliot was vaguely aware of Hardison swearing now, as the drug began deepening its hold on him. “What exactly are you offering me, then?” he managed to ask. _Keep him talking. Just keep him talking until you can figure a way…fuck…_ He closed his eyes briefly, swaying on his feet as the blood in his brain seemed to rush south – pooling in his groin and swelling his cock. _No…_

He had been on the watch for drugs – in his drink, in his food, pills, syringes – anything but the very hands he needed Morovich to put on him in order to sell the con. 

The irony of it all was something he would definitely try and appreciate later. 

Gathering the last shreds of his control with every bit of focus he had left, Eliot opened his eyes and addressed Morovich again. “This just doesn’t seem to have a lot to do with restaurants.” He swallowed hard. “No offense. Sir.”

Tiny threads of appreciative laughter flashed around him. Even Morovich was smiling, something Eliot definitely wanted to encourage. “Mark…son…how exactly were you planning on paying these gentlemen back for investing in your dreams?” It was sick and wrong, and if the Eliot’s hormones hadn’t chosen that moment to start redlining he would have tried to say so – cover be damned.

“Enough talking,” one of the men at his back complained. Eliot flinched at the unexpected sound. “Get his consent so we can get his clothes off. I want to see exactly what it is I’m buying into here.”

 _“I don’t want you to question anything he instructs you to do. We have worked out the boundaries between us – he knows what is and isn’t permitted. It is not for you to involve yourself in such things.”_ Eliot didn’t even try to swallow the whimper that rose in his throat at suddenly hearing Damien Moreau’s voice in his head, particularly memory of the events connected to _those_ instructions.

Morovich had brought up a smart phone while Eliot had been drifting, pointing it at the hitter now in such a way Eliot knew he was shooting video. “Insurance, my boy. You understand. I just need you to say for the record that you consent to everything that’s going to happen tonight.”

 _”That won’t hold up.”_ Eliot flinched, hearing Hardison’s voice in his ear again. He’d forgotten the hacker was still monitoring everything that was going on. A hand gripped his shoulder – one of the men behind him had misinterpreted his reaction.

“It’s a small price to pay, Mark. Give us your consent and you’ll be set for life.”

Eliot nodded, steadying himself as best he could. Hardison was right – consent given under these conditions was worse than useless, except as a means of intimidation. It was the kind of threat Eliot would have no trouble laughing off.

Mark Keller was another matter entirely…  
********************************  
There were six of them, including Morovich, and they wasted no time once their leader had Mark Keller’s consent safely stored in his phone. Hands pulled and tugged at Eliot’s clothes, stripping him down in a matter of moments. Two men held his arms as Morovich fastened a small strip of leather around the base of his cock. The ring briefly whitened his vision, ratcheting the pressure of Eliot’s already sore and aching erection almost to the limits of his endurance. 

“How are we doing, my boy?”

Whatever cocktail Morovich had dosed him with had Eliot tight in its grip now. His blood was high, his skin hot to the touch, and a seemingly endless series of tremors were whispering across his back and shoulders, promising an indescribable amount of pleasure if he could just get the right amount of pressure on his cock.

_”Eliot…Eliot, man, please. Call an abort. Something – anything. You don’t have to do this.”_

But he did. And the further he sank, the more it felt like something he wanted to do.

Fingers snapping close to his face brought him back to reality with a shudder. “I asked you a question, Mark.” Morovich had stepped in on him while he was distracted, and Eliot’s senses were suddenly overwhelmed with the reality of the man and what he wanted. Off balance, he took a step backwards. It was a rookie move, something he might have done deliberately in order to sell the con, but the drugs in his system were taking him further off his game than he’d been in a while.

Morovich frowned at him. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

Struggling now to get himself under control, Eliot dropped his gaze and shook his head. Exhaling softly, he forced himself deeper into sub space, not daring to move until Morovich said he could, keeping his hands open and loose at his sides.

A finger curled under his chin, forcing his head up until their eyes met. “What was that?” Morovich asked, his voice edged with what he probably thought was a dangerous tone.

Projecting as much fear as he could manage, Eliot swallowed hard. “No…sir…” he managed weakly. _He likes the fear. It excites him._ Even drugged Eliot had the full measure of him now. His only remaining obstacle was not letting his hormones run away with him before he could see this night to the end.

“You going to fight me on this?” A dark swatch of cloth flashed at the edge of his vision.

“No sir,” Eliot repeated, letting himself sound more certain this time. Morovich tipped his head back even further, putting a hint of strain on the hitter’s neck, before letting him go.

“Good,” Morovich said. “Do as you’re told, and I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.” His free hand trailed across Eliot’s bare chest, down the ridges of his stomach, until the tips of his fingers brushed the length of Eliot’s flushed and straining cock. Palming the leaking head, Morovich leaned in and kissed him; a hard, bruising press of lips that would have tipped him into a full-blown orgasm if it wasn’t for the ring holding him in check. A groan of mingled need and frustration escaped him that he didn’t have to fake.

 _“God, don’t do this, Eliot. We’ll find another way.”_ Hardison’s voice in his head was laced with all the sickness and fear Eliot couldn’t allow himself to feel about what was getting ready to happen.

But there was no other way. Eliot forced himself still again as Morovich stepped back, then moved into position behind him. None that would get them to where they needed to be. Where their client needed them to be.

He could do this.  
*********************************  
Blindfolded, his equilibrium shot, hovering on the edge of what promised to be a mind-blowing orgasm, Eliot actually whimpered, as a hand cupped his ass and squeezed. “I’ll throw in an extra ten if you let me belt him first,” a voice he didn’t recognize said.

“I’ll put in ten to get on that action,” another voice said. “A thousand a stroke?”

As awareness that they were negotiating to whip him finally sank through the drugs in his system, Eliot shook his head, stumbling in the direction of where he remembered the door to be. Two men were on him in an instant – one on each arm – then Morovich grabbed him by the hair. One quick twist and pull, and the hitter’s muscles locked; freezing him in place. “Easy, my boy. These men know what they’re doing. A good beating will soften you up nicely for later.”

He kept his grip tight for another moment, then eased his hold. When Eliot didn’t immediately resume trying to get away, he sensed Morovich stepping back. “How do you want him, gentlemen?”

The men holding his arms dragged him towards the bed and manhandled him up onto the mattress. “On his knees,” someone directed. Hands wrapped his hipbones, jerking him into position. The movement dragged Eliot’s sore and leaking cock against the bedspread, sending another jolt of pleasure straight to his brain. He cried out, his vision whitening again under the blindfold.

 _”You will take whatever punishment he decides to visit on you. I have set his limits well within what I know you can endure.”_ Damien’s voice in his head again, softening the world around him; taking his lingering panic and feeding it back into the promise of pleasure.

As much as he knew the first blow was coming, there was no obvious build-up for Eliot to key off of. The only warning he had that something was about to happen was a soft grunt of effort, and the hiss of leather cutting through the air. One moment he was on all fours on the bed, groping for the place in his head where he could let go and have a chance of coming through the night in one piece; the next he was fighting not to collapse as the heavy leather laid a strip of fire across his backside.

 _”Eliot, man, talk to me. Tell me what to do.”_ Hardison in his ear again.

Eliot swallowed hard. “Don’t leave me.” The words were more breath than sound, but Hardison heard him anyway.

_“Never.”_

Eliot grabbed for the strength of conviction behind the single word and clung to it. He’d screwed up. Morovich’s appetites were farther ranging than he’d anticipated, and whatever he’d drugged Eliot with meant he was going to have to go places and allow things that he hadn’t permitted anyone to do in longer than he cared to remember.

Otherwise the job was blown, and their client would be worse off than when she’d come to them.

He could do this. He would do this.

The blows against his flesh began to blur together, until Eliot realized he’d lost track of the number of hits he’d taken. When the abuse finally stopped, he had a moment to catch his breath and hold it before two lube-slick fingers pressed against the furled skin of his opening – penetrating him in one slow, thick push. Letting out the breath he’d been holding in a wet, broken sob, Eliot nevertheless pushed back into the stroke, striving for a balance between terrified and eager.

Whoever it was getting ready to fuck him bought it. “Tight,” he muttered, moving into position behind Eliot – and there was obvious satisfaction in his voice. “Have you done this before, Mark?”

Eliot started to nod, then changed it to a shake of his head. “No…no sir.”

The two fingers inside him scissored just then, brushing the edge of his prostate and making him cry out once more. “We’ll go slow to start,” the man behind him said, once he was quiet again. “Don’t want to tear anything right out of the gate.”  
***********************************************  
It was dawn before Eliot came through the back door of the pub, into the offices. The hitter was moving slowly, stiffly – the way he tended to after a fight hadn’t ended as quickly or cleanly as any of them would have wished. Grateful that the last of his nervous energy had died out a couple hours earlier, somewhere around the time Eliot was being put through round three – or in the case of at least two of the bastards involved, round four – of his ordeal, Hardison watched silently as his teammate approached the desk and began divesting himself of his spoils for the evening.

 _I thought we were just going to clone Morovich’s PDA,_ Hardison thought, accepting each device as it was silently laid on the desk in front of him. The idea of questioning Eliot’s methods out loud, though, was the furthest thing from his mind. Whatever reason the hitter had for labeling this the better play, Hardison would support him without question.

Eliot’s eyes met his briefly as the last device was laid out for him, and it was all Hardison could do to hold his ground in the face of such absolute vulnerability. This one had cost. Whether the price Eliot had paid would be worth the freedom of a mother and her two small children remained to be seen.

By the time he finished the thought, Eliot was turning away from him again – not towards the stairs, and the safety of his apartment, but to the nearby couches, as if that was the furthest he could imagine walking right now.

 _He’ll want to be alone,_ Hardison thought, watching him settle with his back to the room – _and to me? When he was hurt this bad, Eliot usually reacted to the care and concern of his teammates like a wounded animal. He preferred not to be fussed over, so they typically let him retreat to his cave to nurse his injuries in whatever way he saw fit._

__Don’t leave me._ _

_Hardison hadn’t. No matter how bad it had gotten, no matter how listening and bearing witness to his teammate’s ordeal had sickened him, he hadn’t turned away._

__You can’t turn away now._ _

_Stepping around the desk, Hardison walked quietly over to where Eliot hadn’t moved. Reaching down, he gripped his teammate’s shoulder. After a long moment, a calloused hand slid up over his, tightening briefly in acknowledgement._

_He was searching for something to say, when Eliot began to speak. “When I was with Moreau, there was this war lord he needed to close a deal with. The man controlled a critical part of Syria – Moreau needed permission to cross his lands in order to move guns into Iran.” The hitter’s grip tightened again; barely able to breathe now, Hardison still returned the gesture automatically, letting Eliot know that he was here and listening._

_“I still think what he really wanted was a night with Moreau, but he didn’t have the guts to put that on the table. Me though – me he could ask for. One night, and as long as he stayed within the boundaries Damien laid out, I had to do everything he said.”_

_Hardison felt his throat go dry as the implications of what Eliot was saying – and what he wasn’t saying – began to sink in. It took him a moment to realize that his teammate was looking up at him now, but when he did he met Eliot’s gaze without hesitation or doubt. _I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.__

_“There’s a freedom in letting someone else take control,” Eliot went on. “Not having to always be responsible for the dark stuff inside me. It’s like a drug.”_

_It spoke to a mindset Hardison had run into in more than a few corners of the internet, but he automatically added “research D/s psychology” to his mental ‘to do’ list. He had enough context now to understand why Eliot had asked him to stay on line, and why he’d sounded so unexpectedly vulnerable when he’d said it, but if this was a real thing in Eliot’s world, Hardison owed it to him to have as much information to hand as he could get._

_“You’ve got to be able to trust the person taking control though, right?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. “Otherwise you end up in a situation like tonight.”_

_Panic flashed through Hardison’s chest when Eliot slipped his hand free, but the hitter didn’t give him any other indication that the comment had bothered him. “I didn’t factor in him being able to drug me like that.”_

_It was the closest he would ever get to admitting how much very real danger he’d been in. “I know, man,” Hardison said out loud. “And I get why you felt you had to go through with it. It’s just…” Praying he wasn’t about to make a fatal mistake, the hacker threaded his fingers into the fall of Eliot’s hair and made a fist. He felt the hitter stiffen, and thought he heard a small sound in the stillness. “What do you need now?” He kept his voice calm and controlled, hoping Eliot couldn’t hear how fast his heart was suddenly beating._

_“Contact,” Eliot said at last, after what seemed like an eternity. “Skin. Something to anchor myself to.” There was an edge of fear in his voice again, a vulnerability that made Hardison’s chest ache. _Dammit, It shouldn’t be this hard for him to ask for help.__

_The hacker immediately released his hold, turning the movement into a caress. “You got it,” he said softly. Leaning down, he kissed Eliot’s hair. “You want me or Parker?”_

_He realized with a start that Eliot was looking up at him again. “Both? Either?” He shuddered again, and seemed to find some balance. “Both?”_

_Before Hardison could figure how he was going to get Parker to go along with this, the thief stepped from the shadows. “I like that answer,” she said.  
********************************  
The couch pulled out into a bed of sorts, giving the three of them more room. Hardison immediately stripped off his shirt; Parker followed suit. Eliot thought about saying something when she went for her bra as well, but when he realized that Hardison was completely unfazed by the move, he fell silent._

_He ended up sandwiched between the other two, pillowed on Hardison’s bare chest, while Parker molded herself to his front. “That good?” the hacker asked, kissing his hair again._

_Eliot exhaled softly, nodding. He was warmer, stable; the last of the adrenaline in his system finally draining away. “Thank you.” He pulled Parker in closer with one arm, resting his other hand on Hardison’s forearm._

_He could feel the hacker smile – his chest rising and falling as he chuckled quietly. “Thank you for not breaking my arm just now.”_

_Parker snuggled in deeper against him. “We’re not doing this again,” she said – her breath warm against his skin. “No honey traps. I don’t share my people.” Eliot felt the fingers of her right hand flex possessively against his skin, and saw her repeat the gesture with her other hand against Hardison’s arm._

_“I hear that, Mama,” Hardison murmured, shifting slightly beneath Eliot._

__My people…_ Sleep was tugging at Eliot’s awareness finally, along with a sense of safety he’d hardly allowed himself to believe he could have again._


End file.
